Mezzanine
by sinemoras09
Summary: Sangatsu no Lion from Souya's POV.


.

.

His grandmother is deaf, so he learned sign language from an early age.

The house is quiet. Other than the soft shuffle of slippered feet and the steady ticking of the antique clock, there is no sound. A shaft of light falls onto an austere kitchen and illuminates two people signing quietly.

Grandmother. I have another match today.

Again? You're so busy. Didn't you have a match yesterday?

That was for a tournament. This one is just a commemorative one.

The grandmother smiles. Her face crinkles at the corner, and as she signs, her skin stretches like paper.

Good luck, Touji-chan.

And Souya smiles back at her, signing.

Thank you, grandma.

xXx

.

His grandmother has met the Chairman several times.

"Souya!" Even though Souya can't hear the knocking of the door or the booming of the Chairman's voice, he can feel the vibrations echoing outside. "Souya, I'm unlocking your door!"

The door slides open. Souya and his grandmother look up, startled. Souya has just finished cooking his grandmother breakfast; neither of them are dressed.

"Souya, you dummy! Don't you know it's almost time for the match?"

Souya isn't very good at reading lips, but it's easy with the Chairman, since everything he says is loud and everything is exaggerated, his face opening wide like a freshly caught fish.

"Is it time?" Souya asks. "I thought we still had an hour."

"Geez, I knew you'd underestimate it! Just because you live in the neighborhood, tch."

His grandmother touches him on the arm.

Why is he angry? his grandmother signs.

He's not angry. He's just being himself.

"Eh? Are you talking about me? If you have enough time to sign you have enough time to go get dressed!"

"My apologies, Chairman. I will go get dressed."

Souya rises, heading to his room. It's always disconcerting to speak out loud and not hear himself. When he was a child, and his grandmother had to speak to someone, she had a noticeable accent. A deaf voice, they called it. Something thick and lurching but still relatively understood.

They get into the car. The Chairman drives while Souya looks out the window.

xXx

.

The Chairman has his reasons for keeping Souya's deafness a secret.

"The only thing you've got going for you is that you're mysterious and aloof," the Chairman is saying. Or at least, Souya thinks he's saying, but there's a high-pitched ringing sound in his ear, such that the Chairman's voice is blending with the background. Souya squints his eyes and focuses on the Chairman's mouth - he rolls his consonants, stressing the vowels - and he thinks he can make out the words. "Once they find out that mysterious, enigmatic child of god is really just an absent-minded airhead-" and Souya blinks at this, though most people would bristle "-we'll lose our sponsors. Our fans!"

They've had this conversation before, back when he first turned pro and started winning matches._ "Ack! Souya! You can't say you want to pulverize the enemy! That's uncouth! Tell them you want a match that's enjoyable for everyone and you're looking forward to the flow!"_

The Chairman had confiscated Souya's video games, loudly telling him he couldn't spout nonsense like an idiot shounen protagonist, and promptly gave him a script of speeches to memorize.

(Grandma? Souya signed. He was still in middle school then. Am I an airhead?

What? His grandmother signed back. Who told you that?

Chairman Jinguuji did.

His grandmother wrinkled her face. She waved her hand dismissively.)

His hearing started going in his twenties. Speech became difficult, and pretty soon all sound blurred into a background lull.

xXx

.

It's the day before the commemorative match, and the bullet train is crowded. Souya looks around and sees a small coterie of reporters also traveling. _They'll want to talk to me_, Souya thinks, and the thought itself is exhausting. He picks up a pair of headphones and slips them into his ears.

"Souya! This is the schedule. We have players' Q&A at 7 PM. Don't be late, it'll freak out the kid."

Souya's eyes drift downward at the paper, studying it.

Sometimes, when there's free time, Souya will wander the courtyard. Usually, the hotel lobby will be packed with journalists and fans, and Souya will find the commotion too exhausting: a panoply of lights, a sea of smiling faces, mouthing words that Souya can't understand, he retreats into the wooded areas and quiet back yards where few people walk.

If he could hear, he'd say he likes the quiet. Now that he can't, he supposes he likes the calm.

xXx

.

Perhaps because he can't hear, but Souya finds it easier to read his opponents. When Shimada was smiling and gritting his teeth, Souya understood his gastritis was affecting him, stepping in quietly to tell him to _leave it to me_. When his opponents face him on the board, he can see the ropes of their necks tighten with concentration, how their brows furrow when they ponder a move.

It's not so easy to read people in social situations, and even when Souya could hear he had trouble with it.

But Souya bears it, because it comes with it: the crowds and the fawning adoration. The misplaced faith in him, the weight he carries before he sits in front of the board.

xXx

.

The young kid, Kiriyama Rei, looks nervous. Souya watches as he stumbles over his answers, his face turning pink while reporters overtake him.

Souya understands. He doesn't like talking to reporters either, but oddly it's easier now that he can't hear them.

There is a flashing bulb, short bursts of light as reporters photograph him. Souya smiles brightly and delivers his answer.

"I've been coming to Iwate for a number of championship matches, but I'd also like to visit without playing a match someday."

Confusion. The crowd glances at each other. Souya has an uneasy sense that he's misunderstood the question. He glances back at the kid and sees that his face is pale.

When you make a bad move in shogi, you can recover if you play only the best moves. So Souya smiles, tries to pass it off. "Yes, thank you very much," he says, before they can ask him any more questions, and turns.

He doesn't notice the waitress standing next to him until he's knocked into her, two glasses of wine spilling over his suit.

The crowd erupts. Souya is startled and confused and there's a reporter shoving a microphone in his face. Another question. Souya forces a smile.

"Yes, I believe many people from Morioka will come tomorrow, so I would like to do my best to have a great match with Kiriyama-5-dan that people can enjoy."

The crowd looks aghast. A reporter speaks but Souya can't make out the words.

Was that the right question? There were too few moves on the board, and all of them looked bad.

The Chairman finally sees him. Souya can't read his lips, he's too flustered. Like a deer that has seized up in front of an oncoming car, Souya stands there, smiling painfully while red wine drips down his suit. He feels a firm hand grasp his arm and he realizes the Chairman is grabbing him, admonishing him and talking in his ear.

"You absentminded general," the Chairman says, and it's the only thing Souya can read. He says something more, but Souya doesn't understand, he's too flustered. Around him, the crowd ripples while the hotel staff bow apologetically.

The Chairman drags him to the concierge office, where the man stammers and apparently tells them they can't take out red wine. Souya doesn't look at them, flushed and embarrassed, while the Chairman moans and tries to wipe the wine off his arm.

xXx

.

"Souya, you idiot! I can't believe you only packed one suit!"

The Chairman is digging through Souya's bag. He traveled light - only a briefcase with match papers and an extra pair of socks and underwear, Souya had planned to re-wear his suit for the match and travel with it home.

"Geez. I'll have to make some phone calls, hang on."

Souya stands at the edge of the doorway uneasily. He wishes his grandmother were there. She would smile at him, sign something comforting and promise to laugh with him about it later. The Chairman stomps over to him, clapping him on the arm.

"You're going to wear a kimono," the Chairman says.

"Really? But it's just a commemorative match-"

The Chairman gives him a look that brooks no argument, and Souya stops speaking.

_This is the image we'll make of you,_ the Chairman had said, well before Souya's hearing loss, before he had any sort of diagnosis. _A beautiful, aloof, enigmatic bird. A mysterious presence touched by god._

It would make for good posters, for drumming up sponsors and whipping up fans. _Think of the Association_, the Chairman said, and Souya listened to him.

xXx

.

The day of the match comes. Souya sees the mistake, but his opponent is still quick on his feet. He sees the look of shock, the painful jolt of the boy's fingertips. "That's how it is," Souya says later, and the boy looks up at him in wonder.

It's always been this way. People are easiest to understand when they're sitting across from him at the board.

He's tired. The after remarks wear him out even more than the opening ceremony, because he's aware of his mistake and he doesn't want a repeat of yesterday. Somehow he muddles through it, and he retreats to his room, where he finds his suit dry-cleaned and pressed, hanging smartly beneath a plastic cover at the doorway. Souya dresses carefully, folding the kimono back in its ceremonial box, before putting on his suit and tie. Outside, the sky is beginning to darken, but he doesn't bother to switch on the light. Dressing quickly, he folds the box under his arm, intending to return it to the Chairman's friend, then heads out to the station.

xXx

.

The path of the bullet train is mostly a smooth one, but Souya is tired, the night before spent hunched over his ruined shirt and a washbasin, desperately trying to get out the stains. Somehow the movement seems more pronounced to him, and even though the train is moving smoothly he feels a distinct swaying that he knows is only in his head. Closing his eyes, he tries to shut out the sensation - the vertigo is a part of his illness, one that disrupts his equilibrium - and soon enough the exhaustion of the match and the effort he spent the night before overwhelms him. He closes his eyes, and the darkness lulls him to sleep.

A hand.

Souya jerks awake and pulls back, startled. Kiriyama Rei is standing in front of him, talking. His mouth is moving but no one else is around them. Standing, Souya looks around, sees the rain hitting the windows with harsh slants, and the empty seats around the train.

_Oh,_ he realizes. _They must have suspended services._

There is a gentle tug on his arm, and he realizes Kiriyama Rei is motioning to follow him. Souya looks around again, then follows hesitantly.

Once, Souya was waiting at a crosswalk, when he saw the sign in front of him turn green. He stepped out into the street confidently, only to be suddenly yanked back with great force. He stumbled and a truck that had ran a red barreled through the crosswalk, the hand of the passerby the only thing that stopped him.

He is grateful for Kiriyama. He can't hear, so he can't use a phone, and Kiriyama graciously gets them reservations. Kiriyama walks, then stops, then walks again, at times glancing backward to make sure Souya is following him.

They get to their rooms. Souya unlocks the door, then silently sets down his bag.

xXx

.

One day later than he was supposed to arrive, his grandmother shuffles toward the door.

Touji-chan! Where were you? I was so worried! I thought you were caught up in the typhoon.

I was, grandma. But I'm fine. That young boy helped me.

Oh? his grandmother signs. Kiriyama Rei?

Souya nods, smiling. His grandmother takes his coat.

No one talks to him. Other than his grandmother, and the hamfisted attempts the Chairman makes, no one tries to understand him. Souya walks into Shogi Hall to sign certificates and sees how the other players laugh and talk amongst themselves, jostling and currying favor.

But it's fine. It's always been fine. He can communicate with them by playing with them, show them his heart with the moves on the board.

Outside, the entryway is swarming with fans. Souya lifts his head and walks past them.

xXx

.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Souya. But we haven't quite pinned down a diagnosis."

The doctor is sitting across from him, a clipboard in his hand, while Souya sits on the little stool, alone and scared in the cold, sterile room. "We think it might be autoimmune," the doctor is saying, but Souya can't quite make out the words. "Usually a syndrome like this would also affect the eyes, but in some instances, only your hearing would be affected."

"Will it come back?" Souya asks, but the doctor shakes his head. "Is there any way we can treat it?"

"We can try another course of corticosteroids, but it seems your disease may have progressed beyond the point to where we can treat it. Unfortunately, Mr. Souya, your hearing may get even worse."

The door clicks as Souya dully shuts it behind him. In the waiting room, patients murmur and flip through magazines, and Souya walks past them silently. He has a title match in the morning, he should have been at home, preparing. Not wasting time at the doctors, who said they could do nothing for him.

He slides open the door to his grandmother's house. His grandmother is standing at the kitchen with her back toward him. There's no way she could hear him, but she wipes her hand on her apron and turns.

Touji! Her eyes are wide. She rushes toward him. Touji-chan, what's wrong?

A tear slips. Souya smiles.

My hearing isn't coming back, grandma.

xXx

.

It's after the Lion King match, and Souya is exhausted. He looks out at the crowd of adoring fans and steels himself for their questions.

Someone taps his shoulder. Souya looks up.

Shimada smiles wanly. He sits down heavily next to him, holding out a pad of paper.

_Thanks_, he writes. His handwriting is short and scratchy. _For earlier today. I appreciate it._

"You're welcome," Souya says. And he steels himself, mentally preparing for the rest of the show.


End file.
